Confronting Death When Our Parents Age


On April 16th, during the weekend of the Khmer New Year celebration and Day of Remembrance which marked the 41 year anniversary of the Khmer Rouge genocide that killed over 2 million Cambodians, I hosted a small, intimate roundtable discussion on initiating “end-of-life” care conversations with our loved ones. In the Khmer-American community, the generation of refugees who arrived in America after the genocide are aging and becoming senior citizens. As they transition into elderly status, how do their adult children take on the reality that their parents would soon decline, and eventually pass on? Furthermore, how do elder loved ones in the Southeast Asian communities deal with the issues relating to aging?

I was inspired to take on this subject as both of my parents just entered into their 60s. Both of my parents were survivors of war (my mom’s family escaping from the Vietnam War while my dad survived the Khmer Rouge genocide), and experienced many of the PTSD issues that are connected to those traumas. Four years ago, my mother suffered a stroke. Before I turned 30, I would soon share the responsibilities with my brothers on being her caregiver. Meanwhile, my father has struggled mightily with his own PTSD issues after his escape from Cambodia, and his own mental health struggles would become a major hindrance during my mom’s recovery.


Through my experiences being my mom’s caregiver, I was confronted with my own challenges in being able to give her the emotional support she needed. It required confronting my own complicated relationship with my parents. From my teenage to early adulthood years, I rebelled against my parents’ ideals of being an “obedient son”, a family prize that would achieve success in the medical and science field ( a place that my dad once said that “most Asian people” belong to), and bypassing my family culture that I found too oppressing and limiting altogether. I found it challenging for myself to reinvent my relationship with my mom. The years of limiting my emotional accessibility to her has been a barrier in giving myself the opportunity to hold the conversations I am wishing to have.

The reality that for my mom and for our loved ones, they are on borrowed time. When we think of buying eggs or a carton of milk, we look at the expiration date in the back, and think of what meals we can make out of in a specific time. With our loved ones, we don’t have the luxury of knowing when they’ll pass on, and oftentimes, we may not be so fortunate to spend the kind of quality time with them before they expire.

With the current group of US survivors from the Khmer Rouge era aging, there is a growing need to have a discussion on what their needs are, and how they can discuss them with their loved ones. The reality of facing pending mortality is an emotional trigger in the senior community. For the Khmer Rouge survivors, it also triggers memories of facing near death when they were fleeing / surviving from their homeland. As many of their children are now in their adulthood and starting their own families, elderly parents find it challenging to express what their needs are, and how to communicate it to their adult children.

During our roundtable discussion, I first did an ice-breaker where I asked everyone to think about a special loved one in their life, and asked another ice-breaker about a time when they made a decision that improved the quality of their life. This would lead into the main discussion of how empowering it is to be able to make your own life decisions and how you can involve your loved ones in the process. We would share stories on our challenges of initiating “end of life” care discussions with our parents and siblings. Their parents often become reluctant to talk about death with their children. Instead, they would casually joke around, and say “well, you better take care of us when we get old, okay?” One of the takeaways from our story-sharing was that we were conditioned to not become “overly emotional” or sensitive in front of our family as it is a sign of weakness. In typical of most Asian communities, it can be harder to express those vulnerabilities. This hinders our ability to verbalize our own needs, and how we want to be taken care of before we pass.

From my own experiences, I remembered my dad and male members of my family ridiculing me if I started crying, or expressing my feelings to them. By attempting to eliminate that part of my emotion, it created a lifelong struggle with being able to personally connect with my family. I rarely allowed my family access to my personal feelings; I had difficulties telling my family when I was getting bullied in school, or that I ended my friendship with an old high school friend, etc. As my mother’s caregiver, I found it difficult to have that relationship where it required me to be open and vulnerable to her. By avoiding it with my mom, I am often left feeling guilty that I have continued to neglect the many days that I could have had to improve my relationship with her.

In our group, we are left uncertain on how to express our love to our parents, and how we can best support them emotionally as they deal with the hardships of aging. We also see the value of how important our relationship with our siblings are, and how they can play a role in the handling of our parents’ care, and after their passing. We shouldn’t have to shame ourselves of our feelings when it includes fear, anxiety, depression, and anger.

By asking what our parents want and involving the family members, there is a fine line between controlling someone and guiding them to make the right decisions. We also have to be aware of what the end-of-life situation could look like. Do my parents want to stay on a feeding tube or on life support? What is the impact of someone that has a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) order? Who are my parents willing to designate as their Power Of Attorney in their family to make health care decisions on their behalf if they are no longer able to? What ways can we educate ourselves and our family about these options? How can we empower our parents to make these decisions on their own? How can we start thinking about the “quality” of care that impacts them? There are also situations when our parents are not willing to have that discussion, or are no longer wanting to make decisions on their needs and final wishes.

With the generational differences heavily prevalent in regards to education, culture, language, intergenerational trauma, and economics between our parents and us, as adult children, do we have enough of a starting point where we can overcome our discomfort in talking about what life would look like without our parents present? Do we have what it takes where we can strengthen our trust and put aside our past insecurities with our parents and siblings? As adult children, we are in the process of establishing our own future, and at the same time, we must also consider how we can support our parents’ future. This can only happen by asking.

Dad, Stop Running


I need you to stop running. I am out of breath.

Don’t fear, for I am here

Because you are who I have left.

I used to wake up whenever I heard you scream

Only to realize you are imprisoned in this eternally, haunting dream.

You told me stories of how you walked past the remains of flesh and bones

As you heard the distant echoes of ghostly moans.

Phnom Penh, the home you once knew

Now became a sight of bloody carnage taking place in its view.

The small grain of rice you held in your hand,

Along with the guiding stars at night helped you get to Thailand.

You wanted to end the Khmer nightmare, and tried to make the American Dream,

So you created my brothers and me

But the images of death, fear, and guilt are experiences that you still can’t unsee.

You tried to see your father who lived in Vietnam. For when it was time to reunite,

Your father died just before you were to take that flight.

It could have been a reunion of 20 years…

Instead, for the first time at the age of 9, I saw your only tears.

During the day, in our old home, when I sat in my bed,

I hear your random yells in the kitchen, saying how much you want all those American, Vietnamese, Khmer soldiers dead.

At your best, you were a loving, caring dad

But deep inside, your lifelong traumas that have confined you

Have now driven you mad.

As I remain silent from you,

I never stopped wishing that your liberation from darkness will one day come true.

You don’t ever need to run

Because standing right next to you is your son.



All Rights Reserved by Randy Kim 2015

40 Years is Everyday: Remembrance of Cambodia

killing field

Last week on April 17th marked the 40th year anniversary of the Khmer Rouge genocide, an era that would last only 4 years, but would leave its bloody, traumatic mark in Cambodia in the following four decades since. An estimated 2 million Cambodians lost their lives during that period through imprisonment, harsh labor, starvation, diseases, and execution. My father was among the survivors as he escaped with a few others as all of them risked certain death through the treacherous countryside filled with the presence of Khmer soldiers and land mines nearby to reach Thailand. My dad’s survival ensured that he would be given another lease on life. He eventually moved to the US, and a few years later, meet my mom.  I was born and my brothers soon thereafter. My dad’s life continues, but so does the trauma.

In the days leading up to the anniversary, I was consumed with finding a way to convey my sadness, remembrance, introspection, and somehow reflect a hopeful tone that the Cambodian community, both in Cambodia and elsewhere, will continue to persevere, achieve healing, and reclaim its cultural identity that was taken away during the regime. As each day got closer to April 17th, I think about some of the stories that my dad would share with me in confidentiality, or the survivors who I’ve been privileged to talk to, or the sounds of classic Khmer music that would breathe life into the family living room, or at family parties, but also, of how it’s now been 2+ years since I’ve last been in touch with my father.

The day finally arrived. I felt the sorrow permeating through my veins, and at certain moments, reaching through the optic nerves of my eyes. I come across articles and Facebook posts about the genocide. I saw haunting pictures of human skulls that were once occupied by helpless, terrified Khmer souls lying in a glass case in the infamous Tuol Sleng prison staring at the living. I thought about some of my relatives that I would never get to meet because they were taken away too soon, and wondered how their presence in my life could have potentially benefited me. I think about Cambodia, and what it could have been.

I came home later that night after attending a writer-support group, and got my thoughts on a Facebook status. Since the beginning of this year, I’ve been looking into documenting my dad’s survival, and the intergenerational trauma that’s been carried on that has impacted our father-son relationship. So far, I’ve encountered more mental roadblocks than a Chicago construction season.  Writing, as my friend Stephanie would put it, is like giving light to some of the darker surfaces that we are afraid to see. There are many moments in my relationship with my dad that I would rather not revisit, yet at the same time, I found better understanding in being able to reflect on these experiences, and that by doing so, I can start the healing process for myself and for my family. I also have a sense of purpose in making sure that more light is given on Cambodia’s dark history to the young generations of Khmers, and for many others, both whom are surprisingly unaware of the existence of the Cambodian genocide, and the structural / psychological impact it carries for our current and future generations.

2015 not only marks the year of the Khmer Rouge “Killing Fields”, but it also marks the 70 year anniversary of the Holocaust liberation, the 100 year anniversary of the Armenian genocide which happened today as we speak, the 40 year anniversary of the “Fall of Saigon” which also affected my family, and countless other acts of crimes against humanity that we unfortunately have to remember and revisit.

With the 4/17 date having now passed, I can only know that for many Cambodians, this date has not changed.

© 2015 Randy Kim All Rights Reserved

Uncredited photo used for story